


Rowdy Origins

by ToMarsAndBeyond3



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Amanda learns some shit, At least three people die, Everyone is fine, Just some death from when they were kids, None of the Rowdies die though, Surprise the boys had horrible childhoods too, There is some pain, good luck, mostly angst, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: Nobody responded, and as the seconds of silence ticked on, that worm of anxiety began to grow in her stomach again. Had she hit a sore subject? Cross bit his lip, and exchanged glances with Martin; Martin nodded, but also seemed to be shrugging slightly. The others had adapted sobering expressions. Vogel on the other hand had tensed up entirely.Shit.Amanda bounced her leg uncomfortably. She didn’t want to mess this up. She wanted to stay here, with them. They treated her like an actual person; there was no way she was going to lose that. She saw Gripps wave at her.Martin smiled.“We ain’t gonna hide things from you. But it ain’t a fun story, how we met. Lot of pain. Lot of hate involved."





	1. Windy Nights Make For Scary Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during season one, the day Amanda finds out Todd has been lying to her.

As the hand on Amanda’s watch hit the three a.m. mark, she knew that most people in the vicinity would be asleep by now. There was no light outside - a full moon - and the lack of it’s dim lighting would be enough to drive even the most determined night owls inside for the night. It was only natural; the brain automatically registered darkness as a signal to get some sleep. Even here in an abandoned parking lot, the apartments around her were devoid of life. This was a time of rest.

This wasn’t the case for Amanda.

The dancing firelight flickered onto those huddled around her, throwing into perspective the sharper angles of their faces that weren’t visible in the daylight. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said they look demonic.

The Rowdy 3 weren’t demons, though. Probably.

The day had been long and upsetting, and if Amanda had anything to say about it, she would never bring it up again. She would never even think about it. She would much rather think about other things, like how in the hell she was going to keep track of monthly waterfalls in the van. Cross had assured her that they would take care of it though.

The Rowdies had noticed her lack of animation as the day ticked on, and decided to help out in the only way they knew that didn’t involve her having to exert too much energy: storytelling. To her surprise, it was working. She was currently deep into a tale about the time her fifteen year old brother had accidentally eaten pot brownies.

“I’m telling you! He was like, completely stoned for the rest of the day! Our parents didn’t even notice!”

“Why not, Drummer?!” Vogel was listening with wide eyes.

“Who knows?” Amanda wriggled her fingers at him. “Maybe they were replaced by aliens.”

“Aliens?

Vogel’s mouth had fallen open in awe, earning a laugh from the rest of the circle. He frowned, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out what joke he had missed. Amanda shook her head, grinning.

“Not really, Vogel. I think they just didn’t care. Todd lied to them all the time.”

Amanda bit her lip, turning her gaze downwards. The broken concrete was covered in blankets they had set up, giving them all a place to sit - and eventually to sleep if they opted for it. She hadn’t meant to mention Todd by name, but now that she had the feelings of betrayal came rushing back. He’d lied his whole life, just not to her.

Never to her.

Her stomach was boiling, and all she could think about was punching him in his stupid goddamn-

“Drummer?”

Amanda realized that she must have zoned out for a second too long, because when she looked back all four of the Rowdies were staring at her. The blood rushed to her face as she met Martin’s eyes. God Damn it. They were worried. Not even twenty four hours and she’d already embarrassed herself.

“Sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. All of her energy seemed to have been drained out of her. “Got a bit distracted.”

“Just checkin’.” Gripps took a swig of his mystery drink; Amanda couldn’t figure out what it was, and he wasn’t telling. 

“Yeah Drummer!” Vogel’s voice was just a tad too loud, and it echoed in the parking lot. “We were like, worried we’d made you upset or something!”.

Even with her head in storm clouds, she couldn’t help herself but laugh. Vogel seemed to have really taken to her; at least in this place, she was wanted. Accepted. Vogel grinned at her, bobbing along to the music coming from the van’s radio.

“I’m fine man. Just, tired I guess.”

“We don’t mind, drummer girl,” Martin said, shrugging. “Just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

She nodded, staring into the fire. It had been built on… well, she wasn’t actually sure. Gripps had hopped out first when they’d pulled up, muttering something about a fire pit. Within minutes, she had looked outside to see a fire. Perhaps it was best not to question how the beanie-clad Rowdy had done it. She shuffled closer to the fire as the wind picked up a bit.

God, she was anxious. She had to find a way to calm down, or she would find herself having an attack. There wasn’t time for that now; not after she’d nearly drowned already today.

Breathe.

“You good?” Vogel tilted his head, picking up on Amanda’s anxiety from across the fire. “You having an attack, Drummer?”

She squared her shoulders.

“Yeah. I mean, no Vogel. I’m not having an attack. I’m just… I’m cool. I’m chill.”

Martin shared a glance with the others. He sighed, putting out his cigarette before looking up to her. Amanda bounced uncomfortably

“Drummer, you up for listening?”

Amanda’s breath caught in surprise. She was always open to listening, why had he asked? He was leaning in, a frown etched on his face. Was he going to tell her something upsetting? She nodded, not sure how else to respond. Martin’s expression was different than she’d yet seen it; it looked kind. He looked kind.

Gripps put down his drink, crossing his arms on his knees. Cross stopped fiddling with his sticks, and even Vogel stopped his jittering to put his full attention on Amanda. She felt like someone was about to inform her about the death of a loved one.

Though if it were Todd, it would probably be a death by her hands.

“Listen here, drummer girl. You’ve been lied to, ain’t no denying that. Your brother ain’t no good, that’s fact. Ain’t good for you. You don’t gotta forgive him if you don’t want to, but don’t think you’re alone.” Martin gestured to the circle. “You’re one of us. We ain’t gonna leave ‘ya.”

Amanda beamed as the weight on her chest chipped away.

“Thanks Martin.”

Gripps smiled at her, and she returned it without prompting. It felt right, sitting here with The Rowdy 3. It felt like home. She already felt herself starting to really, truly care about them. All four of them. A thought occurred to her, coming out of nowhere, and Amanda found herself wondering why she hadn’t caught onto it before.

The Rowdy 3.

“Can I like, ask you all a question?”

Vogel looked up at Amanda’s inquiry, and nodded along with the others. He smiled, tilting his head as Amanda looked for her words; she nodded back, more to herself than anything.

“There’s like, four of you,” She started. “Why are you called The Rowdy Three?”

Nobody responded, and as the seconds of silence ticked on, that worm of anxiety began to grow in her stomach again. Had she hit a sore subject? Cross bit his lip, and exchanged glances with Martin; Martin nodded, but also seemed to be shrugging slightly. The others had adapted sobering expressions. Vogel on the other hand had tensed up entirely.

Shit.

Amanda bounced her leg uncomfortably. She didn’t want to mess this up. She wanted to stay here, with them. They treated her like an actual person; there was no way she was going to lose that. She saw Gripps wave at her.

“Can you get more blankets, Drummer?”

She nodded silently, pushing herself to her feet so that she could drag herself to the van. The world spun for a second at the sudden shift in position, but was soon back right again. Right, blankets. They needed blankets.

The mood had changed considerable from ten minutes ago, and Amanda noted that they were all muttering lowly to themselves as she walked away. She took a breath, trying to expel the thoughts of doubt from her mind. It was stupid to think they would debate on abandoning her after asking one sensitive question. It was stupid; but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

There were blankets in the corner of the van; they looked almost like a nest. They were the only blankets that she could see. Better these than nothing. The wind picked up again, and she crawled into the van on all four to retrieve the blankets.

Amanda held her breath as she went back to the circle, but stopped in surprise when she saw Cross waving her over with a smile. Weren’t they angry with her? She approached more slowly, squinting as Vogel jumped up to snatch the blankets from her hands. Martin cleared his throat.

“Leave one for Drummer, Vogel.” Vogel nodded, throwing an old green one to her. Amanda caught it - just barely - before it fell into the fire.

“Right. Better sit down, Drummer Girl. Got a story to tell.” Martin nodded over to Amanda, who stared at him as she sat back down. All the Rowdies were leaning in with a rapt attention, and every one of them seemed to be radiating anticipation. Martin exhaled.

“We ain’t gonna hide things from you. But it ain’t a fun story, how we met. Lot of pain. Lot of hate involved. Not from us.”

Amanda stared at him, already finding herself settling down. Martin took that as an invitation to move forward.

“Tell you this,” he said, closing his eyes for a second. “The Rowdy Three ain’t formed from a good situation.”

As Martin started his tale, Amanda felt herself becoming entranced as she listened.


	2. Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixteen year old Martin gets a visit from a man named Riggins, and when he tries to bring him to Blackwing, everything goes horribly wrong for Martin and his family.

Martin groaned, laying his head on the table in the living room. He was already busy enough watching the twins all day, and he still had to rest up for a double shift tomorrow; his mom still hadn’t found a job. On top of all that, there was his stomach. He was hungry for crying out loud, but he knew that he couldn’t satiate it. Not now. It was a stressful day already as it was, and he barely had the mental capacity to take on more.

All things considered, he didn’t have time to talk to shady government officials.

The older gentleman had arrived a few hours prior, introducing himself to a groaning Martin as “Colonel Riggins”. There was something off about the way his aura was, and Martin had taken an immediate dislike to him. He was by all accounts, the most suspicious man he had ever met.

This less than helped his relationship with his mother, who was all for this new development.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Martin. He’sd here to help.” His mom sounded exasperated, breathless as she held one of the twins by his collar to keep him from breaking something. “He’s the only hope we have to help you.”

“I don’t need help. You do.” Martin had snapped at her and took a step back to collect himself. He couldn’t act like this, not unless he wanted the twins to start mirroring his behavior. “I don’t need help, mom. We’re managing fine.”

“We are not managing fine. You can barely go outside without nearly killing someone. And your father... The stress is driving me to madness.”

“I can control it!” He whisper yelled at her as the twin fled the room, looking for his sister. “I’m fine!”

“Martin Dorian Orwell, you talk to him or you’re in charge of the twins for the rest of the month!”

Martin groaned, throwing his head back. His sandwich was only half eaten; it wasn’t helping. It never did. Food just didn’t do it for him. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like either of the twins had gotten his… condition. Mary and Jaye both seemed to be sustained by food and food alone, and that was as good a sign as any. They didn’t have to go through what he did; always hungry, always low on energy. Whatever he could do was… necessary. It kept him alive. That didn't mean it was helpful, though.

He saw Mary peeking at him from around the open doorway into the hallway out of the corner of his eye. As he turned to acknowledge her, she squealed and stuck her tongue out at him before running off. He shook his head, smiling to himself as he made his way into the kitchen.

Colonel Riggins was sitting at the dining room table, talking into an earpiece. Upon Martin’s entrance, he stood to welcome him. His energy put him on edge, and Martin scowled as he sat on the chair furthest from the man. Riggins smiled.

“I’m glad you came in to talk. I was worried you’d changed your mind. It’s Martin, isn’t it?” Martin shrugged, his arms crossed on the table.

“’m not the one who called. Didn’t agree to no meeting.”

“Yes yes. Your mother was the one who contacted us, I believe. She’s worried about you, son. We have a file here, put together from what she told us.” Riggins pulled out a thin file with three pieces. On the top paper, he could see his most recent school picture. “You feed off of something, is that right? Your mother wasn’t very clear. She seems confused herself. Maybe you know more; we’d love to hear what you know about it.”

“We?”

Martin hadn’t failed to notice that the man hadn’t hung up on whoever he was talking to before Martin had entered the room. He gritted his teeth, trying to take a calming breath. He needed to stay calm, to take control of whatever was going on. Riggins smiled again, nodding a bit.

“I work with an organization called Blackwing, son. We work to help people like you understand who they are, what they can do. That’s all I’m here to do. To help you.”

“Sure. And I’ll be president one day.” Riggins laughed softly at Martin’s retort, shaking his head as he tucked the paper back into the folder. Martin caught a glimpse of the paper under it as he closed it. It was something called “Containment Protocols”.

“I’m sure you will, young man.”

Dear god, this man was insufferable. The blood boiled inside of Martin’s stomach as he bit his lip.

“But I’m not here to try and make you come with the big scary government, Martin. I would much rather learn more about you, and that way you can learn about me before we make any decisions.”

“I’d rather live in a cage, actually.”

“Now Martin. I’m not here to pit you against me. We can be friends if you’ll allow it. I want to help you, but I can’t unless you help me.”

Martin couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. Didn’t he understand that this was wrong? The very air felt off the closer he was to Riggins, almost as if something wanted him to run away. Or break his arm. But he’d promised his mom that he was done with fighting.

Why did this man smell like danger?

“I see you like music.” Riggins pointed to the vast CD collection that was lined up against the back wall, stuffed into shelves that were too small. Martin couldn’t go out to concerts; the last time he did, he was nearly arrested for waving a bright blue light around that has disrupted the whole occasion. Martin knew better what it was though, and he couldn’t afford another accident like that. The CDs were as close as he was ever going to get to seeing the real thing.

He nodded, grumbling quietly. 

“Yeah. Got a new radio for my birthday.”

“Your birthday? How old are you?”

He eyed Riggins, his chest seizing up for a minute as he tried to analyze the situation. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was off about this situation. It probably wouldn’t hurt to answer a few questions; it would make his mom happy, at any rate.

“Sixteen.”

“You’re growing fast. Soon you’ll be an adult.”

“I guess.”

Riggins sighed. Martin had leaned his chair even further from him and had even angled it in the opposite direction. The young boy had been giving hostile looks to him during the whole - albeit short - session. If he was already aggressive now at the start, what he would be as they progressed into the operation was almost scary.

“I guess we should stop dancing around the subject, then.” Riggings leaned onto the table, trying to make eye contact. “Like I said, we want to help. But we can’t do that if we don’t understand your abilities.”

“They aren’t abilities!” Martin raised his voice, glaring at him. “It’s just a thing! That happens! Things happen! It’s what they do, they’re- they’re things! It ain’t my fault people are so fucking scared all the time!”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, scared.” Martin fell back into his chair, slouching. “People get real scared like. And it smells so good, I gotta try some. Then there’s this… wicked blue light. And they’re not scared anymore and I feel good. They’re all easy to read. Even you.” Riggins raised an eyebrow, and Martin felt another wave of anger. The way Riggins was questioning him felt wrong, as if he was an animal in a zoo and Riggins was studying him.

There was no way he was going to be treated like some kind of lab rat.

“Has any of these… feedings, gone wrong for you, Martin?”

Martin tensed up, his hands going into fists under the table. This was bad. Riggins was bad. He had no right to know about that, much less ask. It wasn’t his business; Martin wanted to break his arm. Or the table. Or something. Preferably something that belonged to the shady man sitting across the table from him.

Behind his eyes, Martin could see his dad’s face. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He was just so hungry…

Dammit. Breathe.

“Martin?” Riggins looked concerned; he’d taken too long to answer. Whatever he said next, Riggins already knew what he'd wanted to find out.

“No. Just take a little here and there. Nothing much.” Riggins nodded, looking unconvinced. He grunted, standing to his feet. 

“Right then, son. I think I need to talk to your mom for a few minutes, okay? Thank you for being so helpful.”

Martin was already up and out of his chair, and within the next second was on his way out the door. The sooner he got out of this room, and away from Riggins, the better. He bumped into his mom on the way out, who seemed to have been standing behind the door during the conversation. He smiled weakly at him, and he returned it without hesitation. He wasn't sure how this would turn out, but she at least should believe that everything was okay. She seemed reassured by Martin's smile as she greeted Riggins.

Out in the living room, the twins were fighting over their toys. Mary usually favored the hammer, but it seemed that Jaye was trying to get ahold of it. As it was currently, they were stood on the coffee table playing tug of war with it. There was a vase on the floor, knocked over but thankfully not broken. 

“Mary! Jaye! Off ‘fore you break something! Can’t replace nothing right now.”

“Martin! Martin! Jaye wants my hammer!”

“It’s mine now!”

“Guys!” Martin raised his voice again, getting the attention of both children. They lowered their arms, both staring at him from their place on the coffee table. For a minute, all three siblings stared at each other. He sighed, shooing them back onto the ground.

“I don’t care whose it is. ‘M tired. Can’t manage you right now. Work it out.”

Martin fell into the crease of the couch, rubbing his temples. What had he done to earn such a stressful day? He’d failed every test he’d taken, he hasn’t slept for two days, and now he had to deal with the government and his siblings at the same time. It was impossible to tell which one he would rather at this point. The two twins ran in circles around the couch, screeching at each other; Martin thought that he was going to develop a permanent headache.

From the kitchen, which was only a few feet away, Martin could hear hushed voices. It was impossible to make out what they were saying due to his younger siblings, but there was a distinct tension to the voices. He could feel it, almost smell the anxiety rolling out from the room next to him.

It made him even hungrier.

The anxiety he smelled suddenly spiked, turning into pure rage. He knew this particular rage; something had made his mom angry. He jumped as yelling erupted from the kitchen.

“I don’t care what you think is best! He’s my son!”

“M’am, please try to-”

“You get out of this house this instant! Don’t you ever try suggesting something like that! I’ll manage his condition how I see fit!”

Martin gawked as he watched his mother basically push Riggins through the open hallway and towards the door. There was anger seething off of her, and for the first time in months, he had to stop himself from cheering her on. The last time that had happened, she'd kicked out her sister. The twins stopped running to watch their mom push the strange man out the door.

“If I ever catch you near my son again, after- after suggesting that, you are going to sorely regret it.”

She shoved Riggins out the door, and before she could even get a word in, the door was slammed shut. Leaning against the door, she took a moment. Martin hadn’t seen her this angry since a neighbor tried to hit Martin; what the hell had Riggins said to her? She opened her eyes, glancing around for a second before finding where Martin was.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer. Martin pushed himself off of the couch and past the twins, moving to check on his mother.

“You good?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Everything is fine.” Martin bit his lip; there was a weird tone to her voice. It was too strained, and her tension was so strong that it was all he could smell.

“You sure? I could-”

“I said it’s fine!” She snapped at him, stepping back the moment afterwards to calm herself. “It’s fine. It’s just late, we all need some rest. Go upstairs and get ready for bed.”

"But-"

“Martin, go to your room. Don’t! Argue. Just… go. I can see that you’re tired. I’m putting the twins to bed early.”

There was an audible whine from the twins, but Martin didn’t make a sound. He was indeed tired, out of energy, and his mom seemed upset. It was a mystery what exactly had unsettled her like this, but whatever had been said was enough to set her on edge. Nothing ever sent him mom on edge. All he did was nod once at her before trotting up the stairs.

His bedroom was the second on the right. It was small, the twins having needed the bigger room to accommodate them both. He liked to think he was organized, but that was just a fleeting dream. His room was a mess, but he at least knew where everything was, even if no one else did. It was organized chaos filled wall to wall with posters, messy paint jobs, and a singular hole from the night his dad died. He pushed some clothes off of his bed and crawled under the covers.

His head was hurting even worse than before.

He groaned as he realized he hadn’t switched off his light. Was it worth getting up for? He was already in bed, and it was just so warm under his covers. The bill was just paid, and he _was_ working a double shift tomorrow...

No. He would just leave it as it is. He’d have to remember to turn it off before he left for work tomorrow is all. Would the twins leave lights on when they got older? He hoped not; they would skyrocket the electric bill. Unless they helped pay for it. They were already shaping up to be troublemakers; he couldn’t be more proud.

He closed his eyes, already feeling himself drifting off. Whatever had happened today was a problem for his future self. As he went, he heard his mother walk the twins to their room.

 

When Martin wakes up, his alarm clock tells him that it’s nearly three in the morning. His light is still on, and the door is slightly ajar. His mom must have come to check on him during the night. He looks around for a sign as to why he woke up; there’s nothing there.

Martin lays back down, taking a deep breath. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, but there’s no way he can get more rest. His chest is tight, and for some strange reason, he feels anxious. A scratching under his blankets tell him that he fell asleep in his clothes. The feeling in his chest worsens, and his breath is caught in his throat for a second before he realizes where it’s coming from.

Someone in the house is about to have a panic attack; it’s tangible in the air.

Martin steps down onto the cold floor, cringing as it creaks under his weight. He tenses, waiting for his mom to come up to his room and tell him off.

No one comes.

He exhales; it must be his mom who is panicking, then. But why? What is there to panic about at three in the morning? He sneaks over the miscellaneous items on the floor and does his best to open the door with a minimal amount of sound. It doesn’t work.

Still, no one comes.

He creeps into the hallway, peering down the way to his mother’s bedroom. The door is open there as well. He could go over, walk in, but his mom might get mad if he did that. That was her space after all, and he had as much right to intrude on it as she did his own space. They respected each other, and Martin wasn’t about to upset his mother even more. Maybe he could get something to drink instead. Some milk sounded nice. Probably. It tasted good, at any rate.

As he neared the stairs, he didn’t register the draft. A cold gust of air was coming up from downstairs, and it wasn’t until halfway down the staircase that he noticed anything amiss. Martin stopped dead as the air around him filled with a smell that was so completely wrong that his stomach went cold. 

Somebody was here that shouldn’t be, and that somebody was dangerous. 

He was frozen on the staircase, processing the sudden smell of danger. It was intense, so in his face, that for the first time he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get a bat or run and hide. He registered his mother standing in the doorway, whisper-yelling at someone. From where he was standing, he was hidden from sight, but he could hear everything they were saying.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to let me in, Miss. I won’t ask again.” 

The voice was cold and chilling, and sent a shiver up Martin’s spine. Whoever it was, they were scaring his mother. They wouldn’t get away with it if he had any say.

“You can’t just walk in here. It’s illegal-”

“I think you’ll find my employers don’t much care about your silly little laws.”

His mom went silent; the tension was discernible even from here. Martin quietly went down a few more steps to get a better look, ducking behind the railing to keep from being seen. His mom was blocking the entrance, and a menacing shadow was looming in the entrance. A wave of unknown emotion washed over him as he watched.

The man outside sighed, and then reached for something.

“‘Pologies, Mrs. Orwell.”

A loud pop shattered Martin’s eardrums, and time almost stopped as he watched his mother slump to the ground, blood blossoming from her chest. Her eyes stared unblinkingly into his own. The man stepped inside, sweeping the room in front of him.

“Martin? I know you’re here.”

Martin wasn’t sure when he’d run back up the stairs, but in the next moment he was standing hunched over at the top of the staircase, clutching his chest. His breaths came out in ragged difficulty, and as he shut his eyes to try and gain back some control, all he could see was his mother’s face. He could hear the man walking around downstairs, calling out for him in a sickly sweet voice.

“Now, come on boy! We ain’t gonna kill ‘ya! We just want to talk about that sweet, sweet thing you can do there. We wouldn’t want to disappoint old Riggins now!”

Martin’s eyes snapped open, flitting to the direction of the voice. Riggins? The man from earlier? Was he behind this? A childish voice rose up in the back of his mind for a moment before being pushed down by the older, more mature, and more panicked thoughts.

He said he wanted to help.

Martin swallowed the thought down. He knew something was off about that man. He knew something felt wrong. This shouldn’t be his reaction. He’d expected something bad to happen, he just… didn’t expect something like this.

He didn’t expect his mother’s body lying dead at the front door.

A sound down the hall pulled him back to his senses, and quite suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. His whole body tensed as he heard a sob from down the hall.

The twins.

They were going to hurt the twins.

Martin glanced back at the staircase, biting his lip before he tore to his bedroom. Next to his door was an old baseball bat, and for lack of a better weapon, he grabbed it. He proceeded to switch off his light, locking the door behind him. Maybe the man would think he was in there instead. It was certainly plausible; the door had his name on it, after all. Maybe that would give him time to think of a way out of this.

He held his breath as he made his way over to the twins’ bedroom.

Their bedroom was much nicer than his. It was clean, for one thing, and it was decorated in soft pastels. Mary complained about it often; she wanted a room like Martin’s. She and Jaye were only six though, and so had to go with whatever color their mother chose. Martin took a second to register that their beds were empty before closing the door behind him.

His eyes flitted across the room searching for the two children. It didn’t take very long. They were huddled in the corner hidden from the door, and they looked like they were crying. Upon seeing Martin, they nearly yelled for him before he put a finger to his lips.

The twins converged on him as he knelt down, enveloping him in a tight, hysterical hug. He could feel their bodies shaking from the loud, terrifying commotion downstairs.

“Hey. Hey. I know.” Martin held them close to him trying to steady his own breathing so that they would follow his example. “Hey. You’ll be alright. Everything's fine.”

“Where’s mom?” Jaye looked up at him with wide eyes; he was terrified. Martin had to stop breathing for a second. He couldn't afford an accidental slip up. Now now. Not on Jaye.

“Mom ain’t here right now. But she’s… she’s alright. Promise. Mom’s safe.”

There was a loud crash downstairs, followed by the sound of metal on wood. Martin tightened his grip on his bat as the man called for him again. He noticed that his arm was wet; Jaye had started crying. Whatever this was, whoever was downstairs, he wasn’t going to get the twins.

Everything went silent.

He barely dared to take a breath as the sounds of the raid were replaced with the creaks of an empty house. Had he gone? 

He felt like he was going to throw up as he started to hear not one, but four pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs. The smell of the man at the door was back, and the close proximity gave him an amount of rage he hadn’t had since his father was alive. It seemed this man was taking notes from him; both were sick bastards, and both were going to get the hard end of Martin’s bat.

“Now Martin. No reason to hide. This could go very, very smoothly for you if you let it.”

The man had stopped a few doors down from the twins’ room, most likely at Martin’s door. There was a knock, and Martin gritted his teeth.

“No? Well then, that’s a shame.”

The loudest sound of his life, apart from the gunshot, rang out. There was no doubt that Martin’s door had just been blown off the hinges. He stood, pushing the twins farther into the corner. Their two body masses combined were small enough not to be seen from the door, and that would give Martin a few extra precious seconds.

They were out of time to run or hide.

He stood next to the door as there were sounds of disapproval from out in the hall. Whoever this man was, this chase of his was giving him pure giddiness. He was thrilled. The footsteps came closer.

“Oh no, the door is locked.” The man’s voice was just on the other side of the door. “Whatever will I do now. I’m sure the six-year-olds are just dying to hit me in the face.”

Martin raised the bat.

There was a crash, and the twins started screaming as a towering pair of soldiers pointed their guns into the room. They stumbled back as Martin brought the bat down, knocking the guns out of their hands. Grabbing the closest one by his sleeve, he pulled him in.

There was a halo of blue light, and in a second the one he had grabbed was unmoving on the floor. The energy flowing through Martin made the whole moment seem to slow down before him.

“Come and try me, you assholes!” Martin let out a warped battle cry, jumping onto the second soldier and pulling on his neck. The woman sputtered, stumbling around and smashing Martin into the wall. He heard a picture frame shatter.

Martin fell off into a crouch. The bat left his hands as it was hurled, catching the woman right in the face.

The room filled with another blue glow, and it registered to Martin that he’d never been this full before. He’s never been this energized.

The moment was ended as he caught a face full of white, cloudy gas.

He was overcome by a coughing fit, falling as the room returned to it’s normal lighting. Everything was spinning; it was impossible to stay upright. There was a sharp pain in his side, and as he curled into the pain’s epicenter, he looked up to see the man who had shot his mom.

“Bad boy, Martin. Ain’t that mother of yours teach you any manners?” The man smiled.

Martin groaned, trying to reach for him. He could get him, he just needed to get closer. Just a little bit closer.

The man stepped away, turning to the soldier still outside the door. He laughed before glancing at the twins, who seemed to be having a panic attack. He sighed, shrugging.

“Much as I’d like to take care of this, Martha, I gotta get our new little project situated. Help me out here while I get precious Project Incubus outside.”

“Project Incubus, sir?”

“Yeah. Boy feeds like a vampire. I’m sure Riggins will approve the name.”

Martin wasn’t able to move as the man grabbed him by his hair and started to drag him out the door. He was able to turn his head to look back, however, and saw the Twins reaching past the soldier named Martha to try and get to Martin. She kicked them backward. Martin closed his eyes, and couldn’t even find the strength to scream as he heard her gun go off.

Twice.

The house was silent now as he was dragged down the stairs. It was peaceful, and if he tried he could almost pretend that everything was alright. He could pretend that the twins had crawled into his mother’s bed, and they were all sleeping peacefully as Martin prepared to leave for his morning shift. Everything was okay.

Before he passed out, he saw his mother’s corpse stare back at him as he was dragged over her.

 

When Martin wakes up, the first thing he thinks is that this situation seems familiar. His whole body is aching, but he has more energy than he’s had in awhile. Did something happen last night? He groans as he turns to his side, pulling the blanket over his head. Just five more minutes, and then he’ll go down and make breakfast for everyone.

Just a few more minutes.

The blanket is thinner than usual. Did his mom change it? She must have put the other one in the wash. He mumbles under his breath as he throws the blanket off, opening his eyes.

Oh.

The room is the plainest, most boring room he’s ever seen. It’s smaller than his own, and is covered wall to wall in white paint, with only a white-sheeted bed to add some flair. Above him are fluorescent lights, which are already starting to give him a headache.

Where was he? 

Sitting up, Martin noticed he was dressed in the ugliest jumpsuit he had ever laid eyes on. It was stark white like the rest of his room, but there was one bright red stripe across his chest. There was an odd symbol on the front as well. The fabric was thin and scratchy.

“The fuck…” Martin looked up to see a camera in the top corner, and he shuffled onto his feet to get a closer look. After a moment’s consideration, he stuck his middle finger out at it.

There was a sound by what he was sure was the door, and Martin whirled around to face Riggins.

Riggins.

His blood boiled as Riggins walked into the room, his hands up as if to say he wasn’t going to hurt Martin. There was a friendly smile on his face. Riggins nodded at him once before sitting on the bed; there was a distinct lack of other places to sit. 

“You’re looking well, Martin. I’m glad your up.”

“Glad? You’re fucking glad? You kidding me?”

“Now Martin, let’s be reasonable.” Riggins eyed him wearily. “There’s no reason that we can’t get along. I’m here to he-”

“Help. Here to help. What about that psychopath ‘ya sent to my house?! Fucker sure didn’t help my mom.”

Riggins exhaled, nodding along as Martin lashed out.

“I understand what you’re saying, son. And I can assure you, what Priest did wasn’t my intention. No one was supposed to get hurt.” Martin groaned, leaning against the wall with a loud bang. He scowled at Riggins, crossing his arms to keep them from swatting the man right across the face.

“Hell you smoking? Guy came in with a gun! Broke my fucking door!”

“Martin, please calm down. This isn’t what you think it is.”

“Oh? You sure?” Martin pushed himself off the wall, closing in on Riggins with an uncanny amount of speed, like a wolf closing in on it’s prey. True to form, Riggins didn’t back away; but he was visibly tensed as Martin approached. Martin gripped the sheets as he leaned down, nearly unable to stop himself from growling in his face.

Martin looked him in the eye.

“He hurt the twins. ‘M gonna break him.”

“We aren’t against you, what he did was a mistake. You’re here so we can help you with what you are. Do you know what you are, Martin?”

“Yeah. The guy who’s gonna burn this place to the ground.”

“You’re a danger. You can’t control what it is that you can do. Here in Blackwing we can help you learn, but you must cooperate with us. Resisting our help won’t make this any easier.” Riggins stared Martin back, standing his ground. 

Martin turned away, taking a moment to take a steadying breath. Breathe. Take control of the situation. That’s what his mom had always told him to do, so why couldn’t he get ahold of himself? If she were here, she would have pushed Riggins across the room already. He wanted to, but his gut said that that may not be the best idea.

How the hell was he supposed to take control of this?

“Whatever,” he said, turning back to gaze down at Riggins. “Don’t matter none. You wanna control this? I’m the most uncontrollable bastard you’ve ever met.”

“Martin…”

“Get out.”

Martin sat down on the bed, facing away from Riggins. His fist was clenched on his leg, and he was surprised that the man couldn’t feel the anger rolling off of him. Who knows, maybe he could, because he actually listened to him. He heard him leave, but he still didn’t move.

Blackwing wanted control.

In his mom’s honor, he was going to be the most annoying little bastard anyone could ever meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter tells how Martin met the second member of The Rowdy 3: Cross.


	3. Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riggins introduces Martin to something he's never seen before: someone like him.

“Project Incubus, please cooperate.”

“Nah. Maybe next time.”

“Project-”

“I said fuck off, don’t y’all listen?”

The room was a stark, boring white, and Martin was lounging on a chair in the center of it, his arm draped over the sides like a wet rag. He’d been in the testing room for what seemed like hours now, his only source of joy being the torment of the ones in charge of the whole thing. They never particularly liked that, but it brought an endless amount of amusement to him. It was like a game; how much can you piss off the scientists before they lash out?

The answer, Martin found, was a surprising amount. It made for a brilliant challenge.

The test was simple enough, and far within Martin’s abilities. He was placed in one room and someone else was placed in another, with only a thin wall between them. Unlike the other walls, doors, and every other barrier in this place, the thin plaster didn’t block Martin’s abilities. In fact, it was made to amplify them. The purpose was for him to “smell” what the other subject was experiencing, and report it aloud. It was simple, easy, and completely boring.

At least they weren’t electrocuting him.

“Project Incubus, if you do not cooperate there will be consequences.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in.”

Martin stuck his middle finger at the camera, laughing to himself. He sure wasn’t the most liked around here, but it wasn’t like they could just throw him aside. No matter how rude he was, even they couldn’t abandon him. They liked what he could do too much, even if they didn't particularly like him.

The worst part about this whole thing, in Martin's opinion, was that the person in the other room was scared.

Whoever else they had brought in to aid in the experiment was terrified, and the smell made Martin’s head hurt. He hadn’t eaten in two weeks now; a result of him being completely uncooperative. They wouldn’t let him starve, but if he kept up like this, he would only get fed when absolutely necessary. That could be at least a month and a half, which was the time it took without a meal for him to start falling over. The smell of fear made his head pound; he needed something to eat. He groaned.

He heard shuffling on the other side of the thin wall, and the smell of fear faded into the distance. Martin glanced at the camera again, half out of frustration and half out of intrigue. Tests usually lasted at least ten hours, if not more. They never ended this early. What has happened?

He heard the door open, and Martin had to stop himself from laughing when he saw a rather disheveled Riggins step into the room. They hadn't spoken in a long time; Martin didn't hide his dislike of him.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Martin drawled, grinning. Riggins sighed.

“Hello to you too, Martin.” Riggins’ voice sounded strained, uncertain.

“You gonna drag me to a new hell your buddies made?”

“Not now Martin, we- I need you to come with me.” Martin raised his eyebrows. There were no guards standing behind Riggins; he was completely alone. Martin got the distinct impression that something was off, or rather, that something was going on with Riggins. No one ever went into a room alone with Martin; they claimed it gave him too much control. The last time someone had, both the man and Martin had ended up in the medical ward.

What was Riggins playing at?

“Like hell I'm coming. Think I'll stay here, thanks.” Riggins looked like he wanted to groan, but he did no such thing. All he did was stare in what almost looked like desperation.

“This isn't the time for your fits, Martin, this is serious. We need you to come down now.”

“What do I get out of it?” Riggins was beginning to look irritated at Martin's jesting. After a moment, a sense of realization began to dawn on his face. 

“Someone to talk to. We found someone that you may want to meet, if you come down with me.” 

Martin paused, unanswering. Riggins looked deadly serious. Martin couldn't deny that he wanted someone to talk to. It was so completely boring in this place, Martin wasn't sure when the last real conversation he had even was. He swore internally as he rolled his eyes, getting up off the chair anyway.

This seemed interesting enough. Better than tests.

“Hell do you mean you found someone?”

“I mean exactly what I said, Martin. Priest brought in a boy that seems to have the same condition that you do, but he won’t calm down enough to talk to us. We figure you could make some headway in his case.” Riggins adjusted his earpiece, walking faster than Martin had ever seen down out of the room.. It wasn’t often that Martin was allowed to walk without guards, much less with someone like Riggins. In fact, that hadn’t happened during his whole time in Blackwing. There was no way he was going to blow this opportunity.

Martin quickened his pace to catch up with Riggins, who was already turning a corner. He seemed almost agitated.

“Hell am I supposed to do? Go in there and lull the kid? I can see why he ain’t talking to _you_ but-”

“You’re eighteen. You’ve been here two years now. I know you’re capable of more than you let on. I have faith that you can pull this off.”

Martin stopped where he was, catching the attention of Riggins as he heard Martin's footsteps stop. He turned to look at the boy, squinting.

“Martin?”

“What happens if I do? If I’m gonna help him I wanna see him. This place is boring.”

“We can work something out. I promise. But we are out of options here, we need you to cooperate just this once.” Martin crossed his arms, staring. He wanted to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t trying to use him for something, and this was as good an opportunity as any. He could smell the frustration coming from the Colonel's direction. Finally, Martin nodded, earning a sigh of relief from Riggins.

“Fine. But you gotta give me something to eat after this shit.” Riggins nodded hastily, already making his way back down the hallway. The guards and scientists walking the hallway eyed him wearily; never before had they seen a project able to walk about so freely. It just wasn’t the way. Martin resisted the urge to flash them the middle finger, or do anything else that might seem too hostile.

It was a shame, really.

Riggins stopped outside a heavily guarded room, turning back to Martin. He waved the guards away from the door, and gestured for Martin to come forward. He took a small step, but stopped dead a foot away from the man.

“You sure you ain’t playing me here?”

“Martin, we don’t have time for this.” Riggins sounded tired, and Martin couldn’t help but have a small part of him believe him. He could practically smell the desperation coming off of him in droves.

If whoever was in that room was really making Riggins this frustrated, Martin wanted to give whoever it was a goddamn prize.

“Guess I got nothing to lose here. ‘Ya already took my dignity.” Martin flashed him a grin as he was pushed rather roughly inside the room.

Inside, Martin was immediately met with a hostile environment. He could smell an overwhelming amount of panic, and it threatened to take over his whole body. Whoever as in here was on the verge of some sort of breakdown. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the harsh lighting of the room. Once he could see properly, it became clear that the Blackwing agents had thrown whoever they caught into the nearest room that they could find; it was small with a few tables in it, almost like a lunch room. Martin wouldn’t know. His lunches were usually scared convicts kept in dark rooms.

He barely had time to duck as a chair leg was thrown at his head.

“Holy shit! What the hell!?” Martin’s head flung around wildy for the source of the attack, and it didn’t take him long to find it. In the opposite corner was a boy who looked a few years younger than him, his eyes wild behind unkempt hair as he brandished what looked like another chair leg. All the chairs were solid metal; how had he taken one apart?

“They send you in here?! Those fuckers got nothing on me!” Martin put his hands up.

“Hey calm down! I ain’t here to fight with ‘ya.”

“Damn right you’re not!” The boy jeered at him from his corner, his breathing sounding uneven. “You don’t got shit! Can’t keep me here!”

“This ain’t no interrogation! ‘M not doing nothing! Just put that thing down and we can talk, man. You wanna talk?” The boy stared at Martin for a second, his face conflicted. With the threat of being decapitated by flying leg chairs gone for the moment, Martin could smell something different from the boy than he had found anywhere else. He smelled familiar, though Martin was sure they’d never met before. He took a step forward.

“I swear if you get closer I’ll- I’ll like, I’ll drain your whole being man! Like that! Gone!” His resolve seemed unsure as Martin took another step forward, his hands still up. The boy looked out of place, still dressed in clothes from the outside world. It seemed strange next to Martin's jumpsuit.

“I really doubt you will.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m Martin.”

“Well, Martin, it- it doesn’t matter what your… name is. You don’t, come any closer to me.” The boy’s voice began to waver a bit as the distance closed between them. He already was acting differently than he was five minutes ago, and Martin was sure he could smell it too. The familiarity. It smelled like safety.

Not that anything in Blackwing was ever safe.

“I ain’t here to hurt ‘ya. Just wanna talk. Ain’t done that in ages. You gonna hit me with that thing or what?” The boy looked down at the metal rod in his hands, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. After a moment, he shook his head. Martin couldn’t help but feel a bit of accomplishment; this was the first time he’d had an actual conversation with someone who didn’t work in Blackwing in years, and it was going rather well so far. He hadn’t gotten hit yet at any rate. That was always a plus.

Martin glanced around for the cameras, biting his lip as he glared into the lense. It was impossible to tell what had happened to make the kid this panicked, but Martin had more than one idea. Most of those ideas involved Priest.

One of these days, he was going to break that guy’s face.

“What they send you in here for if you’re not gonna hurt me?” The boy shuffled on his feet, seeming awkward. He made eye contact with Martin. Martin shrugged.

“Wanted me to talk to you. Said you could do what I can.” The boy’s eyes widened, if it was possible. He looked down for a moment, seeming to think. After a second, he looked back up with a different, more controlled expression.

“You mean like, the light thing?”

“Blue light?”

“Yeah.” The boy crossed his arms, leaning away from Martin to gain some space. “A bunch of it. Then they like, get all drained and stop moving and shit. Accidentally did it on that scary guy.”

Martin didn’t ask who it was he was talking about; there was about a fifty percent chance that he already knew. A surge of anger rushed through his bones again as he dwelled on Priest, and he could have sworn he heard a distant gunshot go off. That was ridiculous though, because guns the walls here were soundproof. He realized that he’s started shaking.

Had this kid seriously fed on him? That settled it; this guy was cool.

Martin closed his eyes for a second, expelling the unwanted thoughts about Priest. It wasn't worth the energy that it would produce, and he didn't want the kid in front of him to misinterpret his anger. He couldn't afford to blow this.

“I can do that too. It’s pretty cool, right?” The boy nodded. “You got a name?”

“Cross.”

“That ain’t a name.”

“Is if I want it to be.” Martin just shrugged, turning his back on the boy, Cross, and pulled out a chair to sit on. He waved at Cross to do the same. Cross hesitated for a second, but upon flashing a panicked glance at the door, dragged a chair over to sit in.

Martin grinned at him, leaning forward at once. He wasn’t sure how much time he would have before he was dragged back to his room, and he wanted to talk to Cross as much as he could before that happened. He’d never met someone who could do what he did, and besides, he liked this guy. He'd thrown a damn chair leg at him as soon as he entered the room; that was legendary. There was no way he was wasting this. 

Cross didn’t smile back at him, but Martin could feel that he was much less scared than he had been when he walked in. That was at least progress; Martin would make friends with him if it killed him.

“It’s nice to meet ‘ya, Cross.”

“You said you’re called Martin, yeah?” Martin nodded, giving a thumbs up. This elicited a quick laugh from Cross, who promptly stopped as soon as he started. 

“Yup. That’s my name.” Martin leaned back on his chair. “I’ve been here a mighty long time. It’s nice to talk to someone for once.”

“Don’t they let you?”

“Nah.” Martin waved his hand dismissively, making eye contact with the camera for a split second. “They think I’ll feed on everyone I meet. Or they think I’ll break their arms. Tempting, but I like breaking boxes and shit more than breaking people. Way more fun.”

“Sounds way cool. More fun than this place seems.”

“You got it. Blackwing is one plain joint.” Martin could almost hear Riggins sigh from wherever he was, but he barely cared at this point. Cross was way more interesting than his quest to annoy the Colonel. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but Cross just seemed cooler.

Cross followed Martin’s gaze to the camera, which was pointed at them both. He sighed, the sound barely discernible, and Martin felt a new emotion come off of Cross: sadness. Martin raised his eyebrow at him as he turned away from the camera on the wall. Cross made eye contact with Martin again, this time seeming just a bit more open than last time.

Cross realized he still had the chair leg in his hands, and looked down to study it.

“They’re not letting us out, are they?” Martin shook his head, frowning at the unknown tone in Cross’s voice. 

“Probably not. We’d have to get out on our own if we wanted. Which would be mighty hard, given the fact they got guns and all. Not that we would,” Martin added quickly. He didn’t want to have the privilege of talking to Cross taken away because Riggins thought they were conspiring. Not that he wouldn’t mind a bit of conspiracy.

“What about our families?”

“What about them?!” Martin snapped at Cross, the subject making an uncomfortable knot form in Martin’s stomach. Family wasn’t worth talking about. Cross’s eyes narrowed.

“Shouldn't they care? Mean like, they want us. You know? That’s what that whole family thing means. That’s how it’s supposed to work, yeah?” Martin may have just been too hungry, but it sounded like Cross was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Martin. Martin deflated as he thought of the implications of that. His mom was gone, but he at least knew that she went out protecting him.

What happened to this kid?

Martin’s gaze softened as he saw Cross’s eyes fade out for a moment, trapped in an unwanted memory. He knew those sort of moments all to well; there was little else to think about when he was laying in bed at night.

“Hey.” Martin looked around, unsure if it was okay to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s cool. Those dumbasses don’t matter none. We’ll get back at them together. With bats.”

Cross smiled.

The door behind them opened, and Martin found himself blocking Cross from view. Riggins stepped into the room, two guards flanking him from behind. Riggins nodded greetings to Martin; the man was smiling.

“Good Job, Martin. I’m happy that you could calm him down.” Riggins smiled at Cross, who was standing behind Martin. “It’s Cross, right?”

“Better back up, man. You ain’t taking him.” Riggins approached him slowly, arms open to try and tell Martin that he wasn’t a threat. 

“We just want to get him settled. You’ll see him again.” 

Martin growled, causing Riggins to stop where he was. He stared at Martin, and Martin stared right back, scowling. The guards took a step closer, their guns raised as Martin stood threateningly. Cross hovered, unsure if he should move or not.

“I promise, nothing will happen to him, Martin. You’ve got to trust me here.”

“You expect me to trust you? After all the shit you-”

“Martin.” Cross pulled on Martin’s shoulder, pulling him to face him. Cross’s face was determined. He let go of Martin, slapping him on the shoulder. “Man, it’s cool.”

Martin pulled Cross in closer, so that Riggins nor the guards would hear him. Cross’s eyes widened as Martin’s voice lowered, turning into something that was almost threatening.

“They’re bad people. They ain’t gonna-”

“Don’t matter, man. Can’t let you go get hurt ‘cause of me.”

“Cross-” Cross pushed Martin back, turning to Riggins, whose gaze softened as Cross stepped forward. He gestured forward, and Martin, who had a gun pointed at him, had to stand where he was as Riggins took him. Cross turned to Martin as he left, giving a half hearted thumbs up.

“Dammit, Cross.” Martin muttered under his breath, too quietly for the other adults to hear.

He wasn't going to let this go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Gripps! Can't wait!


	4. Gripps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just after Cross is brought back from a particularly angering test, Martin and his brother are brought by Osmund Priest to meet someone new.
> 
>  
> 
> Both Martin and Gripps are young adults now (Gripps is about one year younger than Martin), and Cross is 18/19

At the rate Martin was going, he was going to end up wearing a hole in the floor. He'd been pacing in the room for what seemed like hours waiting for Cross to get back, and there had still been no sign of him. He had a general idea of where he was, and what was happening, but he couldn't do anything but wait. He couldn't even pound on the door; any misbehaviour would result in his privilege of rooming with Cross being taken away. The fact that Riggins had let this happen in the first place was already a miracle in itself. The way he tried to gain Martin's favour was more suspicious than anything he had ever seen. He was a goddamn snake. Hell, even Priest was honest about his intentions.

That didn't mean that Priest deserved a pass, though.

Martin stopped in the middle of the room, brushing the hair out of his eyes so that he could rub his temples. He was irrationally tall now, and the older he got, the faster his hair seemed to grow. Even Blackwing couldn't keep up with it. He glared at the dark strands in the corner of his vision; maybe he could bleach it one day. 

Martin sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he stared at the door. He should be back by now. He didn't like it when he didn't know where his brother was. Blackwing had gotten a tad too creative when it came to exploring their “connection”, as they called it. It was stupid; he just wanted to make sure he was safe, that was all. He wanted to keep people safe. If the only person he could keep safe was Cross, out of everyone in his life, then that was just how the world was going to be. Not even the universe could challenge him on this.

So where the hell was he?

Almost as if the universe was taunting him, his question was answered barely as soon as he thought the words. As soon as he heard the familiar sound of the mechanical door being open, Martin was already striding forward. It was just in time, too. Cross fell into the room, and Martin could feel bandages under his jumpsuit as he caught him. Goddamn Blackwing. He swore under his breath as he directed a swaying Cross to one of the cots. Cross laughed under his breath.

“Shoulda seen them, man.” Cross grimaced as he sat down slowly. “Guys were super pissed.”

“‘Ya can't piss 'em off, Cross.” Martin frowned, feeling the bandaged area to try and see what kind of wound it is. It didn't feel deep, but Cross seemed too dizzy for it not to have gone deeper than a scrape. “It ain't gonna end well.”

“They weren't pissed at me. They were way mad about what they got, though.” Cross tried for a smile, earning yet another frown from Martin.

“Let me guess, there was a lack of the results they wanted.” Cross nodded. Martin suppressed a groan. He took his hand away from the wounded area as Cross cringed, his face screwing up for a moment. Martin gritted his teeth.

“Wanted to see what would happen if I got hurt. If you'd feel it, you know?”

Martin could have slapped someone. So that was why he'd been shoved into an empty observation room a few hours prior. Here he was thinking it was just some advanced form of solitary confinement. One of these days he was really going to mess Riggins up for approving these things. Hurting him was fine; they could hurt him all he wanted, but they couldn't hurt his brother. If he hadn't promised to behave on Cross's behalf, he would have taken down at least two of the guards. Well, before he was knocked out again at any rate.

“I ain't feeling shit, 'cept for a whole lotta anger. Bastards don't know nothing about us.”

“That's the point though. They want to find it out.” Martin took a breath as Cross spoke, gripping the side where the bandages were. It at least didn't seem to be bleeding, but Martin wouldn't actually be able to be sure unless he was able to inspect it closer. Cross would never be able to do any of the physical tests in this condition, and if he couldn't do them, he'd get up to trouble.

“They can kiss my ass,” Martin muttered, too quietly for the mics in the room to pick up on. Cross shrugged his right shoulder, seemingly deciding that it would be too much of a pain - literally - to shrug both of them.  
“We can't do nothing about it. Just gotta keep going.” 

Martin looked away. He wanted to ask him what they were still going for, why they still kept themselves up, but he already partly knew the answer. He always knew the answer; there wasn’t any escaping it, not in the end. It was inevitable. He needed to bring this place to his knees, even if it killed him. He just needed to find the right time.

Cross pushed Martin back a bit, waving that he didn't need assistance at that moment. Martin obliged, backing up and sitting in front of him to let Cross sit up straighter. He almost felt like a child, sitting on the ground like this in front of his brother, but he knew that there was no room for children in this place. He could imagine a child being able to survive in here; it just wasn’t possible. It might actually break them, whoever they were.

Besides, he was nearly twenty one years old now. He was far from the mindset of a child.

“We ain’t kids, Cross. They’re gonna get what’s theirs.”

An alarm above them sounded, and a monotone voice filled the room. It wasn’t an automated message; the person voicing it just sounded bored. Martin couldn't blame them though. He was pretty sure he’d been bored for the last five years, save for when Cross was with him. His brother at least made the long day cycles in the facility bearable. Martin wrapped his hands around his brother’s torso to help him stand; someone was about to enter the room, and the protocol was to stand in the most non threatening pose possible. Usually that meant to put your hands above your head, but Cross was having trouble standing on his own.

When they saw who entered, they found themselves wishing that they’d just sucked it up anyway.

“Mornin’ boys.” Mr. Priest was smiling at them, speaking in a singsong voice as his eyes flitted between the two. “Got a little surprise for you today.”

“No more surprises scheduled for that stuff!” Cross was backed up against a wall, his knees up in almost a defensive position. Martin was already in front of his brother, blocking the distance between him and Priest.

Priest just smiled wider.

“Talk back again and we're takin’ all of Project Incubus to testing.” Priest's hand was resting on his gun, clearly ready to fire very real rounds at them at a moment's notice. “Got a different surprise. A fun new face to play with. And you boys are gonna come along all nice to meet ‘im.”

“No way in-”

“Cross.”

Martin had his hand up, quieting his brother. Whatever Priest was talking about, it wasn't some typical thing. In fact, it might be a very, very important thing.

A new face.

“But Martin-”

“We're goin’.”

“What!?”

“Yeah.” Martin drawled as he dared to tear his gaze away from Priest to look back at Cross, who had finally gotten the strength to stand up on his own. “We're goin’.”

“I knew you boy’s’d understand.” Priest took a step back, undergoing a grand and sweeping gesture to the hallway. “After you.”

Being near Priest was never fun, and most usually ended in the medical ward. It was made worse, perhaps, by the fact that Cross’ face as he glared at Martin was a mix of anger and betrayal. It wasn't that Martin trusted Priest - he’s much rather throw the guy in a pit - but there was a feeling in his gut. Sure, he was usually a “go with your gut” kind of guy, but he was able to repress that most days in favour of keeping Cross safe.

But there was just something about this that made it impossible to resist.

A new face.

The boys were pulled to a rough stop in the middle of a hallway, the guards behind Priest raising their guns in case Cross and Martin tried anything. Cross, still glaring, followed Martin to put his hands up behind his head. Priest tapped the door with his gun.

“Boy in here's taken out five of our guards. Sounds right up your alley, doesn't it.” Priest was smiling too widely, sending all of Martin's nerves on edge. “Calls himself Gripps. I suppose that it's a ritual for Incubus members to have ridiculous names.”

“Incubus?” Martin frowned. What was he talking about? Did he mean… god, he hoped not. He couldn't handle seeing someone else have to go through what he and Cross already were.

Did he mean that whoever was inside was like him?

He must have.

“That's none of your business.” Priest hit the door, and it slid open. “Time to go inside.”

When Martin would later tell this story, he would describe the way he was pushed into the room, Priest grabbing a handful of his jumpsuit and literally throwing him in. He'd then go onto describe the way the dark, pitch-black room lit up, blinding both boys for a moment before their eyes focused. Then he would stop, turning to look at his brother sitting by a fire, and tell a young woman about the way he saw a boy in a beanie frowning at a table, refusing to look at both Martin and Cross.

As soon as he laid eyes on the kid at the table, Martin knew exactly why they were here.

Project Incubus had another member.

“Hey?” Martin pulled himself to his feet, dragging Cross up with him. The two stood in front of the locked door, glancing at each other before looking back to the kid at the table. 

The boy didn't say a word.

“Not gonna answer.”

“That ain't my fault.”

The two boys whispered to themselves, standing a few feet away from the one on the table. He didn't look away, only leaned back into and scowled at nothing. Martin frowned. There was something about this boy that seemed right, that seemed familiar, the same way that Cross had. It was like a series of small bells going off in his head, yelling at him to fix this like they did when he'd met Cross. But the boy was fuming; how was he supposed to fix this?

Martin put his hand out, gesturing to Cross to be quieter. He had an idea. It wasn't necessarily a good idea per say, seeing how he planned for this to end, but the beginning of his half formed plan was at least decent.

Martin snuck over to him carefully, waving his hand in front of his face. When he didn't answer, he looked back to Cross, who gave him a thumbs up in encouragement. Martin nodded, turning back to the boy.

“Hey. You're Gripps, am I right?” The boy didn't respond, and Martin exhaled.

“You know you ain't getting nowhere sittin’ here like this. Ain't gonna work.”

Martin felt the emotions radiating off of Gripps shift slightly, and taking this as encouragement, he pressed forward. There had to be some sort of topic that would break Gripps from his staring contest with the table. Maybe he needed to talk about something different. He sat down on a chair next to him, and even though he didn't look over, he could hear Cross do the same.

“You're mighty older than we were when we got here.” Martin leaned in, trying to catch his eye. “Ain't been too fun either. Ain't that right, Cross?”

“So right. Place is super whack.” Martin grinned. Gripps had to come around sometime.

“Priest says you took out a few of his own. That right?”

“That's super cool.”

“We've been dyin’ to for ages.” Martin exchanged a glance with Cross, who merely shrugged. Phase one of Martin's plan was quickly dying out, and if that didn't work, he knew that phase two would get on in a world of trouble.

Maybe it was worth it.

“Mighty brave of you to do that. Priest's the monster of Blackwing.” Martin tried his best to crack a smile, but found he had no idea how to in this situation.

“Blackwing’s a monster in itself.” Cross nodded in agreement with Martin.

“More 'n that. It's-”

“Stop talking.”

The boy, Gripps’ voice, was rough around the edges, not unlike Martin's. He continued to stare at the table, but his whole body had become visibly tenser. Martin glanced over to Cross, who simply shrugged at him. At least the kid had finally said something. Cross leaned forward over the table, his eyebrow raised as a smile played at his lips.

“Say what?” Cross was smirking at him.

“Said stop talking.” The boy finally tore his gaze away from the scratch on the table, choosing instead to frown at Cross. “Shit ain't helpful in any direction.”

Martin crossed his arms over his chest.

“And what do you suggest?” He tilted his head. “Unless you fancy gettin’ thrown back to Priest. We're you're only safe bet here.”

Gripps didn't respond. The anger coming off of him had noticeably shifted into something else, though Martin couldn't figure out what. If he didn't know any better, he would have said the smell reminded him vaguely of the fear he constantly sensed around the facility.

Why were Cross and him sent in here? Priest had barely said a word before he'd shoved them into the room; he only told them the boy’s name, and that he was dangerous, already having attacked at least two guards since the morning rotation started. Martin didn't mind that part, really. Cross had gotten into a few altercations with the scientists since he’s arrived, and Martin had done the same for years. It was obvious that Gripps was new to Blackwing. Instead of the usual jumpsuit, he was wearing a dark, wrinkled flannel.

Martin hadn't seen clothes like that since they'd brought Cross in. It was refreshing.

He was sure that Gripps was around his own age, maybe just a bit older than Cross. It made him grit his teeth to think that they were bringing in kids just past their teenage years, but there wasn't much he could do to prevent it. At the very least, he had yet to see an actual kid in here, though he knew they were somewhere nearby.

Goddamn Blackwing.

“Don't matter,” Gripps mumbled, “Not talking.”

Martin put his hands up in defeat, leaning back in his chair. He glanced up to the camera in the corner, watching him and the others with close scrutiny. He had two options here, and neither of them were very favorable. On the one hand, he wanted to gain Gripps’ trust, and a surefire way to do that was to cause some sort of riot in their small little room. If Gripps saw that they were for sure against Blackwing, he would be more inclined to listen. But if he caused something like that, he could be moved to a solitary cell, away from both of them. He couldn't let that happen.

He couldn't, right? But the boy in front of Martin wasn't budging, and really, there was at least one thing that he knew every project here would respond to. It wasn't particularly a good thing, but if he could gain Gripps’ trust, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing either.

Martin's head turned at the speed of light, his whole attention being diverted to the door as the distant smell of familiar emotions leaked into the air. The door must not have been steel enforced; usually, they couldn't smell anything at all through them.

Oh, this was perfect.

Martin turned back towards the two, who had both seemed to pick up on what he was. Cross’s face had fallen, a frown forming on his face as he retreated further into his chair. Gripps, on the other hand, had perked up in his seat, his eyes wide as he glared daggers to the door. A wide smile broke out on Martin's face, and it was off enough to get the attention of the other two boys. Martin met eyes with Cross for a moment, and a low rumble sounded across the room from Martin's chest.

“You boys hungry?”

The grin spread to Cross’ face, albeit shadowed with disbelief, and Gripps narrowed his eyes. The smell of emotions got closer, and they could hear footsteps now. Just a couple of guards. Martin sprung to his feet, an almost electric current sparking around the room.

“This 's a bad idea.” Cross spoke in a low voice, already standing as the energy in the room pulsed restless energy through their bodies. Martin laughed in an expression that was nearly a snarl.

“All ideas are bad ideas in this place.”

When the door opened, the two guards rarely had time to react before Martin moved. The shortest one found himself thrown into the wall, while Cross, following Martin's lead, had landed a kick dead center in the taller one's chest. A whoop sounded across the room, this time from Gripps. Martin's laugh echoed out into the hall.

“Feedin' time, boys! Before our Priest comes to ruin our old game!” He turned to Gripps, grinning widely from ear to ear. His hand raised to point at him, another laugh building in his chest. “Ain’t no member of our project spending their first night goin’ hungry!”

“Project?”

Hurried, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall again, and Martin growled, turning away from Gripps.

“Boys!” Martin shouted at them, and in a moment, the two younger boys had sprung into action, nearly on instinct.

The room filled with a bright, iridescent blue light that swirled around in the air. A deep, aching energy leeched into Martin's very bones, sparking a maniac reaction in him as the seconds passed. In less than a minute, he was better fed than he had been in months, maybe even since he met Cross. He could feel his brothers next to him, the link between them momentarily more than protectiveness. It was primal, the instinctual need to protect your own. They were the same-

Martin was hit in the face by a wall of gas, and the next moment, a sharp sting in his abdomen sent him flying onto the floor. The light died out, and Martin, clutching his stomach, gazed up to meet the eyes of Mr. Priest.

Fucking asshole.

“Thought you'd know better than this, Martin.” Priest's words were scolding, but his face was lit up like a child being told they were going to Disney World. Martin vaguely registered the sounds of the other two boys, one pinned to the ground and the other against the wall.

Priest stepped around Martin, glaring at the other guards who had come into the room with him to subdue the three of them. He spoke quietly to them, and as Martin finally felt he might be able to get up, turned back around. He stepped on Martin's arm, forcing him back to the ground as he crouched down.

“Bad boy, Martin.” Priest had a wicked, almost sickening smile on his face as he looked over him. “Y'all have to go learn some manners now, don't we?”

Priest looked over at his co-workers.

“Get those boys outta here. _The Rowdy Three_ can go without each other for awhile.” A hand grabbed onto the front of Martin's shirt, pulling him upwards. “Oldest Incubus needs a few lessons taught.”

Martin was able to meet eyes with both of his brothers as they were dragged out. Cross was terrified, not even trying to resist as he was pulled out of the room. Martin would have called out reassurances, but there was nothing that could make light of this situation. Gripps, on the other hand, was furious. He pulled against the two guards holding him, growling back at the two figures left in the room.

“Don't touch-” But Gripps’ words were cut off by the door slamming shut. For a long moment, everything was quiet and still.

And then the reality of being locked in a room with Priest kicked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated it! Are you excited for the next chapter though, that's the real question. You know who's going to be introduced next, and I've been excited to write it for ages!


	5. Vogel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three members of Project Incubus are introduced to a fourth, very small party member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Vogel's chapter is here! It's kind of shorter, so I'm sorry, but I had a lot of fun writing it! I've been waiting to get here forever! 
> 
> Vogel is about six years old here, and the breakout doesn't happen until he's ten, so send love to the little guy.

Jacob didn’t know where he was.

Wherever, whatever this place was, he had been able to identify a few basic rules; a system, if you would. The darkness meant safety, shelter from the torment of the men and women with bright lights and sharp needles. Inside his plain little room, he’d sit in a tense silence, waiting for the moment he was no longer safe, for when the lights would come on. Once they switched to brightness, illuminating his - dare he call it a cage - he didn’t waste any time in hiding under his covers. Because he knew, then, that the monster with the wide smile would come and find him. The day would begin then, a haze of terror, confusion, and strange, unnecessary pain. 

And of course, that monster. 

Then he would be thrown back into the darkness, and like clockwork, the cycle would begin again.

The boy had many names, but he wasn’t sure which was the right one anymore. He knew he had a first name, and even a last name, but what it was was beyond his understanding. The men and women, the ones wearing white, called him _Incubus Four_ , while the Monster called him _Jacob_. Other people called him things like monster, devil, and once, he was addressed as a vampire. Jacob didn’t know what a vampire was, but they sounded pretty cool.

But none of those names really felt right to him.

Today wasn’t any different, although by the time the lights went out, it would not once be remotely the same as before. Jacob was snatched from his bed as soon as the darkness faded, shouts echoing the walls as he struggled against the Monster taking him. The grip on his arm was so tight, so aggressive, it was surely going to leave bruises.

Jacob kicked at the Monster, and before he could react, felt himself plant face first into a wall. Something wet and hot began to trickle down his face, and Jacob couldn’t even check what it was before he was being pulled further down the hallway.

Jacob could have fed on the Monster, but even he wasn’t that stupid. He’d tried that before, and all it ended in was a week he couldn’t remember and waking up in a hospital bed. So he kept any aspirations of trying to feed far away as he struggled to escape.

Whatever was at the end of the hallway, it couldn’t be good.

Finally, Jacob fell forward, the cold ground rushing towards him. He threw out his hands to catch his fall, and scrambled back against the sealed door. He tried to bang on it, to get out, but there was no luck. He took a deep breath in, to orient himself, and then froze.

There was someone in the room with him.

There were three, tall, very scary looking people in here with him.

___

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. There was no way such a small, tiny… child, would be in a place like this. Martin was frozen like a deer in headlights, holding his breath, as images of twins just as small danced in his vision.

_Mary and Jaye._

The boy in front of him, in front of his brothers, was too small for comfort. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old, at the very most, and he was cowering in the corner as he stared at the men. He was all elbows, probably from lack of nutrition, and the fear in his eyes…

Martin’s heart skipped a beat as he watched a small trickle of blood drip down the boy’s face, soaking his forehead and coating his eyebrow and eyelash. There was a moment, a quiet, quick moment, where the boy and Martin locked eyes.

Then the child started to scream.

Martin wasn’t stupid. In the few seconds it took for the scream to register, he was already a few steps ahead. The boy would be taken away if the sound continued, if he kept reacting badly to Martin and his brothers, and he didn’t know when or if they would see the boy again. The thought of Priest, that goddamn monster, getting his hands on this boy, was more than enough to make Martin’s stomach boil. Martin lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the waist to stop his from hurting himself in his terror.

Then he breathed in.

The room, Cross and Gripps, were all but forgotten. The blue light surrounded Martin and the boy, forming a halo as the boy’s fear fed into Martin. Martin could feel, could taste, it all. The loneliness, the terror, the confusion. Martin took it from the boy, eating it up so it wouldn’t hurt the child any longer. He released, and the boy fell forward into Martin’s chest, soaking his jumpsuit in silent tears.

“Hey.” Martin spoke in a low, rough whisper. “Ain’t no wonder why they brought you in, huh?”

And it wasn’t. Even if it wasn’t for the jumpsuit, which had the same color scheme and logo on the front as the other boys, they could smell it. This boy was like them, another piece that fit on their vampiric island of misfit toys.

He was a Blackwing subject.

He was a fucking _child_.

Martin met eyes with Cross and Gripps as they crouched down. Gripps had his arm partly outstretched, unsure how to proceed. Cross, on the other hand, was holding up the hospital forms they’d been given earlier. They were empty, except for a single name at the top. Martin nodded once, and pulled back from the boy’s embrace to look at him.

“Vogel?”

The kid’s head shot up, his eyes flitting wildly between the three men. After a second, he seemed to make a decision, and he sunk further into Martin’s lap, nodding.

“Hi.” Vogel’s voice was high and squeaky, not unlike that of a normal child his age. Martin nodded, encouragement building in his chest. Maybe they could help this kid after all.

“Little bird, little bird.” Martin chose his words carefully, drawing small, calming circles on Vogel’s back. “I’m Martin.”

“I’m Cross.”

“Gripps.”

“We’re The Rowdy Three.”

“Not now, Cross!”

Vogel looked between them all, his face screwing up in concentration. He looked like he was trying to solve some sort of puzzle, and after another moment, he relaxed.

“Three.” He nodded. “How many’s three?”

“Me.” Martin pointed to himself. “Cross. Gripps. That makes three.”

“You make four, little bird.” Gripps smiled down at him, trying to seem as un-intimidating as possible. “Maybe three and a half.”

Vogel was beginning to nod off, the after effects of Martin’s feeding taking hold. Martin didn’t often, if ever, feed on his brothers, so he hadn’t known what kind of effect it would have. But Vogel had been screaming, and he would have been taken away, so Martin had jumped on it. In fact, Martin had been overwhelmed by a panic of his own. He couldn’t let this kid be taken.

If no one was going to protect him, you could be damn well sure that Martin and his brothers would do the job. Another little brother; a baby brother.

Vogel rested his small head on Martin’s chest, closing his eyes. As Martin leaned back into the wall, careful not to disturb the boy, Cross and Gripps leaned in on either side. They slept like this normally, when they weren’t being kept apart, but now it was more to keep Vogel safe than anything else.

Something clicked into place, right then, and they all knew.

They knew this was how they were meant to be, together, as a family.

The boys pressed in a little tighter, and for once, the universe didn’t come knocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter left! Are you ready!? I'm definitely not.


	6. The Rowdy 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin's story, and ours, comes to an end.

Amanda wasn't sure if she felt sick, or if she felt angry.

She pulled the blanket around her shoulder tighter, frowning at the men around her, as the fire made the shadows on their face into something dark and demonic. She imagined Vogel, barely up to her knees, being pulled from a home he couldn't remember to be experimented on. She imagined Cross, his family turning him in because they were scared of a teenage boy. She imagined Gripps, his grandmother dying and being left for the state to turn him over to Blackwing. And she imagined Martin, his family murdered before his eyes, dragged out to a place where he'd spend a decade of his life.

She imagined these things, and her stomach burned with the fire that ignited.

They were only children.

Amanda shook her head, glancing back out at the men who'd let her into this stupid, insane little family of theirs. Those that would protect her, and she'd protect them in return; but now she felt almost unworthy. They'd been through so much, it made her illness feel like it paled in comparison.

Amanda let the blanket fall to the ground, and went to stand. She needed to think about what she'd heard.

“Woah, Drummer.”

Martin had put his hand out, gesturing for Amanda to stay in her seat. Amanda slowed, her feet shuffling below her on the old, cracked asphalt. After a moment or two, she sighed, lowering back to her position by the fire. Martin nodded, a solemn look on his face.

“Ain't done the story.”

“What?” She frowned over at him. Of course he was done the story. Martin just shook his head, twirling a stick from a dead tree nearby in his hands.

“No way, Drummer. Gotta tell how we all met.”

“But you did.” Amanda stared at him, confusion swimming up her throat and making her head spin. “You told like, you and Cross and Gripps and Vogel.”

“We got more, man!” Vogel, despite listening to the story Martin had just told, smiled brightly at Amanda. “There's five of us!”

“Five?” Amanda's frown only deepened. “What do you-”

Her sentence cut off, the realization blooming behind her eyes. And just like that, she was on the course to cry again.

They meant her.

“Us, we're like a puzzle.” Martin continued with his story, sharing a long look with Gripps. “We meet, we know. Universe needs us together, so there ain't a time where we don't feel right. Met Cross, and I knew. Knew with Gripps, knew with Vogel.”

Martin leaned in, staring at Amanda for a moment.

“Saw you whole followin’ the other Brotzman, and that detective. Knew then, too.”

“Yup.” Gripps nodded, looking back and forth between them. “Knew it lots.”

“Super excited to meet you.” Cross was smiling now too.

“Yeah Drummer!” Vogel hit the ground, the maniac energy shattering off into the others. “You're the best!”

“Oh.” Amanda went to say, her gaze traveling between them all. “You guys like, really are my family. I've never belonged anywhere.”

She wanted to say that, but the words didn't come out of her mouth. It must have been travelling through her eyes though, because even in the darkness of the new moon above them, with only stars and their fire to light their way, they saw the meaning.

As if there had been some kind of invisible signal, they all moved at once. Martin reached her first, pulling her into his side for a loose hug. Vogel, somehow, beat the others, wrapping around her back and holding her tightly, like an excited dog. Gripps pat her head, leaning against her other side; and Cross took the front, completing the circle, and laying across her lap.

Finally, the cry escaped from Amanda's throat.

“You're one of us, Drummer.” Martin muttered, his voice quiet for once. “Ain't nothin’ changin’ that.”

“We're the best family ever.” Vogel nodded.

“Oh, way so.” Gripps agreed with the other two, looking down at Cross, who gave a thumbs up.

“Only the best.”

“We ain't let each other fall.” Martin glanced up, the stars bouncing off his glasses. “Ain't lettin' you fall either.”

Amanda closed her eyes, the safety and proximity of - her family - sending the signal that she didn't have to be scared of anything. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw the dark, white hallways Martin described, screams and cries and begging echoing through the facility, the smell of fear permeating throughout. She saw a six year old boy, smiling happily up at people whom he couldn't know would hurt him; and she saw the two teenage boys, one with eyes bright as the moon and the other with his eyes hidden behind hair. And of course, she saw a young, barely adult man, trying to take care of his family.

They'd never go back. This, in the wilds of abandoned places and overgrowth reaching between the cracks of the asphalt, this is where they belong.

And for once, it was where she belonged too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I might do some extras to show what happened with Vogel, Cross', and Gripps' family, but for now! Hope to see you in my other stories! (Look out for the third installment of the werewolf au, coming soon!)


	7. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16 year old Christan and his brother have to deal with the consequences of the neighborhood finding out about their abilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I might wrote extra chapters, and here we are!!! This one is about Cross, and how he came to be in Blackwing. We get to see the return of Priest, which is... eh. Cross' brother is a little punk though, and I love him.

"Duck!"

Christian was quick to catch his brother's warning as soon as he threw it. As soon as Christian had dropped to his hands and knees, he heard the indistinguishable shatter of a glass bottle, now scattered in pieces as it showered down around him. A laugh bubbled in his throat as he picked a large piece off the ground, chucking it at his brother.

"Woah!" Tyrell had a broad smile on his face as he tilted to the side, the glass narrowly missing his cheek. Tyrell's hand came up to his chest, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he mocked a hurt expression. "You've almost _killed_ me, Cross. And on my birthday! I'm too hurt for words."

"You're speaking now." Christian stuck out his tongue as he hopped over the broken glass, resting his arms on the ledge that his brother was perched on. "And stop calling that name at me, shit ain't even a real name."

"It is if I want it to be." Tyrell made a quick flick of the wrist, and more quickly than expected, Christan was met with a face full of his brother's middle finger. More laughter bubbled up in his throat as he grabbed tightly to Tyrell's wrist, using it to pull himself up off of the broken concrete and onto the ledge. Once he'd gotten up, he draped his arm around his little brother's shoulder.

Though to be honest, he wasn't that much younger than Christan. He seemed young, because unlike Christan, Tyrell didn't have a drop if testosterone in his body. But in actuality, he was only about two years younger than Christan, and _he_ was was already sixteen.

"All fed, Tyr man?" Christian raised an eyebrow at his brother, who's eyes became clouded in seconds.

Christian followed his brother's gaze, his eyes resting on the unconscious body of their neighbor off to the side. Neither Christan nor Tyrell had planned for what had happened to happen, but they hadn't been able to stop it either. They'd been messing around in the back alley like usual, when they'd found him walking up, a friendly smile on his face.

Too friendly.

Tyrell had had practice in these sort of matters before, and he'd recognized the man's sinister intentions in seconds. Before Christan had even said hello, the alleyway was filled with a brilliant blue light, the energy from their neighbor flowing into Tyr. Christan hesitated, unsure of his brother's intentions, but unwavering in his faith in his brother. In the end, he'd joined in, and now they both had been fed well.

Tyrell shrugged his shoulders, a troubled expression on his face.

"Think he'll tell?"

"What?" Christan pulled back, a frown on his face as he smelled the worry coming off of Tyr. "What's that out here meaning?"

"Mr. Ore." Tyr stretched out his arm, pointing his stubby little fingers out to the unconscious man. "He's still alive. He saw. Think he'll tell mom and dad?"

Christan didn't answer for a moment; the amount of uncertainty in the air was making his head spin. _Would_ Mr. Ore tell their parents? Would he speak of the way they both moved in sync, so in tune with each other they basically read the other's thoughts? Would he speak of the rancorous laughter, or the foul language they sported? Or maybe the flowers in Cross' hair, far more girly than anything his parents would let him wear.

Would he tell their parents about their powers?

"Nah." Even as Christan said it, he wasn't sure if he believed it. "We're in the clear."

"Sure?" Tyr looked over, something sad and fearful in his eyes. Cross rubber his shoulder with a light touch, still frowning.

No, he wasn't sure. He never was.

"Hell yeah."

 

~ ~ ~

 

The night held whispers.

Christan could hear his brother's gentle breathing through the wall, and that should have been enough to lull him to sleep. But there was a horrible, mouthwatering stench of fear wafting under his door, assaulting his senses.

Fear.

Someone was afraid.

The growling in his stomach was accented by the sounds of mutterings, drifting up the stairs and through the wall. The indistinguishable voices of his mother and father whispered from the shadows, mixing with the fear he could smell to create a heavy sense of dread.

Somewhere in the house, he heard a phone ring.

 

~ ~ ~

 

"Cross."

No answer.

"Cross."

Still, there was nothing.

"Cross!"

"Stop calling me that wacko name." Christan squinted up at his brother, who had rather rudely invaded his couch time. He pushed, palm up, to try and get Tyrell to tumble over.

"It's not wacko, it's cool." A smirk grew on Tyrell's face as he squeezed in next to Christan, leaning into his brother so he couldn't escape, like the devil child he was. "You should keep it."

"Don't think I'm gonna." Christan smiled back at him, trying not to laugh at his brother.

"Asshole."

"Chimney Face."

Tyr bumped Christian's shoulder, a laugh on his lips. It blended perfectly with the crisp sunlight shining through the windows, and the calm sound of a television in the background. It was the perfect day.

Though, he couldn't fathom why his parents would've left on a Sunday.

"Want some cake? We still have some leftover." Tyr titled his head to the kitchen, and Christian shook his head in disbelief. Tyr shpuld have known better than that.

"Don't eat food." Christan tried to remind him.

He and his brother lived primarily off of energy, walking around their neighborhood, scaring and ambushing all the asshole kids and rich tourists. Food just wasn't something they strictly needed.

"Yeah, but it tastes great." Tyr bumped off the couch, stretching his limbs in a long, painfully slow movement.

Once he'd finished, he'd given Christian a thumbs up, before disappearing to the kitchen. Christian shook his head, leaning back in the couch. His brother could be more than annoying at times, but he really did love him. The older he got, the more he became just like Christian. Less sweaters, more jackets; less dress pants, more ripped jeans; less rules, more _fun_ >

As soon as Christian turned 18, he was getting out-

There was a horrible breaking noise from the kitchen, followed by the loudest, most defeating noise Christian had ever heard. And Christian ran. He passed the window with the hatching bird eggs, the wall with his childhood artwork; he rounded the corner, hopping clean over a dropped piece of cake.

He net eyes with Tyrell, who was staring back with the faintest trickle of blood coming out of his mouth.

"Cross." Tyrell's voice sounded choked and labored, and when Cross gazed downward, he saw a blossoming patch of red in the middle of his shirt. Not a moment later, the boy's legs gave out under him.

Christian Macfee died with his brother.

Cross watched with prolonged horror as his brother's corpse continued to bleed on the ground, the puddle of blood leeching out towards his shoes. He was so caught in the moment, in this one, awful moment, that he didn't notice the other people in the room.

"S- Sir." Came the voice of a black clad figure, with an assault rifle still unengaged in their hands. "You, you weren't supposed to kill anyone."

A man, imposing in his height and defined by his terrifying smile, stepped forward, twirling his own rifle as he passed it off to the figure next to him. A cold smell came off of him, and as it reached Cross' nose, he froze. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, to get away fast before anyone could catch up. This man was _dangerous_. In that moment, just for a split second, they were like animals. Cross was the prey, and the man, he was the cold blooded predator.

And he'd killed Cross's little brother.

"Now, old man Riggins says to bring him in a live specimen." The man's voice was even more terrifying than his smile. "And that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Cross felt a gloved hand wrap tightly around his arm, jerking him with a rough movement across the floor. He blinked back into reality, taking a moment to process the situation.

And he screamed.

Cross felt the energy colored blue seep into him from the man involuntarily, surrounding him. It wasn't fear, like Cross was used to. Oh, he could eat other types of emotions of course, but negative ones were the only type that really kept him fed and alive. Other types were just indulgences. This, what the man was feeling, it was joy. It was pure maniac glee. He was having fun, killing Cross' brother and hunting down Cross himself. It was fucking sickening.

Cross felt something cold and hard jab into his neck, and in the next moment a heavy lethargy filled his veins. He collapsed into the floor as the heavenly blue light puttered out, landing in the puddle of his own brother's blood.

He couldn't move.

Shit, why couldn't he move?

Why was he so _tired_?

"Whoo!" The man stretched his neck, bouncing back from the feeding faster than anything Cross had ever seen. "Informants were right! New little Incubus Two!"

The man knelt down next to Cross' head, his smile even wider than before. With a careful hand, he pushed the hair out of Cross' eyes, humming quietly through his teeth.

"Your parents were right to call you in, boy." The man murmered, so only Cross could hear. "Freak like you don't belong out here."

Cross went to respond, but he fell silent. In fact, everything fell silent. Cross' vision faded, and there was nothing left for him to hang onto.

Nothing, except for the faint call of the universe.


	8. Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're six years old, you don't know much. But Jacob knows one thing: His mom shouldn't be this sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different! It's not only told in first person, but also from Vogel's pov!

Sometimes Momma gets tired.

Momma's always loud these days, her face stretched and sad as she tries to tell us to behave. But sometimes, when she thinks about Daddy, she gets real quiet. She sits on her big blue chair, which no one else is allowed to rest on, and she'll stare blankly for hours. Roland says it's because she gets extra sad, and that we can't help her.

I trust Roland. He's the oldest, and my favorite, always dressed in black with his strange, loud music. _Punk_ , he calls it. I love it, and maybe, I can be just like him. But now, as we sit here in the hallway, he pulls me into his lap.

"I can feel all those bad things she's feeling." Roland says, his fingers running through my hair. I love the sensations, it makes me feel safe. "And they're really very bad. But you can't go trying to eat them."

I frown. Why shouldn't I? If I can eat all of Momma's bad feelings away, she can get fun again! And all of her sad smells so good, I just have to try some.

"I eat, and then Momma can get better." I look up to Roland with wide eyes, and he shakes his head.

"No." Roland sighs as I deflate in his arms. "Just, only do that with permission, okay? No eating unless someone says yes."

Permission.

I like that word.

 

~ ~ ~

 

There are tears on my face, and all I can register is the pain in my wrist. I'm curled up in the grass, and Momma towers over me like the angel she has to be, rubbing my chest lightly with her free hand.

"Shh baby, it's just sprained. You'll be okay." She cradles my wrist in her other hand, and her voice does nothing but make me feel calm. Momma is safe. The pain starts to leech away, and I find myself wondering, can she teach me that? Can I help people not feel pain too?

She pulls me closer, carding her fingers through my hair. All of my fear is gone now, and I'm left with a hollow chest and eyes emptied of tears. Even now, starting to drift away into sleep, I can hear her start to sing to me.

_"Little Bird, don't you weep._  
Little bird, I'll be your keep.  
Little Bird, you're safe with me.  
Little bird, I hope you see 

_That your wings will guide you home_  
And you'll float above the stream.  
Little bird, you're safe with me.  
Little bird, I'll set you free." 

 

~ ~ ~

 

"There's nothing to worry about, little man!" My scary brother, Orell, is laughing at me. I can't fathom why but since it just be funny, I laugh too. There's a light tap on my shoulder from his hand, and inexplicably, I feel like crying.

"Momma's sadder than always." My own whines of protest, my cries for help, are no use, and Orell shrugs me off to play with his dumb bugs.

Stupid, stupid bugs.

"Why do you even care about mom? She doesn't care about you." Orell glares down at me, and i can feel myself cringe away. Why does he look at me like that? He's too tall. And besides, I can't understand his words.

Of course Momma care about me. Why wouldn't she?

"She can't even be bothered to keep you until Hanukkah. You should just run for the hills." He's still talking.

There's no way I can comprehend what he's saying, so I let it go. Instead, I go to sleep in Momma's lap, but I can't, because she on the phone.

Maybe another day.

 

~ ~ ~

 

I know I'll never fall asleep. 

I dont understand how, or why things coukd get so bad so quickly. The sound of a slamming doors, of Roland's shouts to Momma ring in my ears. Why did he hate her so much? He was so angry, and I couldn't see why.

Why hadn't I been able to go with him?

He'd tried to take me along, yelling at Momma that he _"wouldn't let her turn me over"_. Then she said that she'd do the same to him, and he let go of me.

I don't understand why he'd started crying, begging her to choose him instead, and not me. I don't understand why Momma started crying too, and ran last us to hide in her big blue chair; why Roland told me to remember that I'm not a "caged animal", before disappearing into the dark.

I don't understand, and as I watch my sister glow softly in the dark, I begin to weep.

~ ~ ~

 

He says he can help, and I believe him.

The first man smells off, like he has a secret. He's so much bigger than me, so intimidating, but his eyes are kind. How can I not trust him? But the second man, he smells cold. And the smile on his face makes him look like a monster. It makes me feel afraid.

I am afraid.

 

~ ~ ~

Momma won't look at me as I go. She won't even speak to me. There are tears in her eyes, ones I can't comprehend, and she turns her face away. Even as I climb into the big black car, wondering where my siblings went, she still won't look.

"I love you, Jacob." I hear her voice through the still-open door, and I lean forward in exuberation. Why is she still crying? "I pray the universe takes pity on you." 

The door slams shut in my face, thrown by The Monster, and the loud noises make me want to scream. As I try to calm myself, the engine starts up, and I hear a name.

_Project Incubus_

 

~ ~ ~

 

It hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!!! So, since this was Vogel's POV, this might be a bit confusing, so let me explain.
> 
> Vogel's father died, and ever since then his mom has been both trying to mourn and raise her kids at the same time. The whole family is holistic, because holism runs in the family. His mother is a "healer", and can take pain from others. His sister Lauren can glow in the dark; his brother Roland (the oldest. He's 19) is an empath, and his other brother Orell can control insects.
> 
> Roland leaves because he found out that his mom called Blackwing, and he tries to take Jacob with him to run. Obviously, that doesn't work.
> 
> And disclaimer, his mom DOES care about him. I can't justify her reasoning for doing this, and neither can she. But she does care about her son.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like his family! They're still out there, so maybe one day I'll write a fic with them. Maybe I could do a chapter for Amanda and Gripps (Beast, dare I say?) Next!

**Author's Note:**

> I have the whole story planned out already, so worry not. You'll get to read it all.


End file.
